He responded, “How do you think it made me feel to have Trey bless us? That’s all the proof I needed of how much he loved you—”
“You idiot, doesn’t it occur to you he didn’t want you to be alone and thought I might be good for you?” She wanted to tell him, Please, you don’t even have to love me; just admit you were wrong about me. Give me some hope and I’ll follow you home where I belong. But she didn’t like his tone or the look on his face. In fact, she so didn’t like it, she glanced at the door, wondering if she should run. But she was too late.
He dove over the couch and tackled her, his hand red but not bleeding from the scratches she’d inflicted, knocking both of them to the floor behind the couch. For a moment, his weight pressed her into the carpet and they matched, torso to torso, hips to hips. She felt the immediate reaction at his loins. Everything in her wanted to respond, but she’d lived her life by feeling, and had little to show for it.
It was time to think. She’d done all she knew to make him see her as more than a stripper, with little success. He wasn’t ripping her guts apart anymore.
“I’m not going,” she said dully, turning her face aside from his smoldering gray eyes, so she didn’t see steely resolve melding in the coals.
He pulled a tie-back off one of the curtains. In an incongruous, very gentlemanly way, he gently lifted her head, fanning out her hair—and tied the scrap of material around her head, muffling her mouth.
Then, pulling handcuffs from his back pocket, he cuffed her hands behind her back, latching her in a sitting position to the old-fashioned built-in gas stove. She was so stunned that at first she didn’t struggle, but when he began collecting her things to carry them down the stairs, she roused herself enough to kick at the heavy stove. She only hurt her booted toe.
Livid didn’t cover the way Jasmine felt. How dare he do this to her? Tears of rage blinded her, but she was buffaloed, as they said in Texas, as helpless as a hobbled heifer. Oh, but wait until she got loose . . .
It didn’t take him long to take all her boxes and suitcases downstairs. The satchel, she noted, he’d left for last. He’d seen all the cash on top, so she supposed she should be glad when he uncuffed her and slung the purse around her shoulder. At least he wasn’t taking her money, not that she thought he ever would.
Hardly mollified, when he hauled her to her feet, she took a swing at him with her fist. He jerked his head to the side so her fist barely scraped his cheekbone. Even that contact with his bones hurt her enough to make her gasp behind the gag, but he only lifted her over his shoulder as if she were a bag of feed and turned for the stairs.
“You want it the hard way? You got it, babe.” He latched one arm around her knees like a vise to hold her still so she couldn’t kick. When she pounded on his broad back, he smacked her upturned rear end hard enough to sting. “Be still, or we’ll both fall down the steps.”
“I don’t give a damn as long as it breaks your neck,” she mumbled through the gag, but he ignored that, too.
Jasmine heard the horse trailer door open, and the next thing she knew she was inside the trailer, standing on her feet two tie-downs away from Chester. Chad was cuffing her to the railing closest to the door, but she was still too far away to reach the door latch. He tossed her satchel against the side wall.
Breathing as evenly as if he’d taken a stroll, he paused. “You gonna be good? Promise not to scream? I’d prefer not to be arrested when I’m finally dusting this place off my spurs.”
Her incandescent green eyes, damp with rage, were all the answer he needed. Using the same rope he used on Chester and his cattle, Chad tied her waist loosely to the tie-down above her head, giving her support for the lurching of the trailer. ”I’ll let you inside the truck once you’ve calmed down, but I want to get outside town first.”
He briefly checked on Chester. The stallion whuffed at him in a way that seemed to question Chad’s behavior, and one mellow brown eye fixed on Jasmine. Chad patted him awkwardly. “I know what I’m doing.”
Chester whickered a soft, mocking response to that.
Pausing only to tape fly paper over the rear window, hiding his hog-tied prisoner from any curious eyes, Chad jumped down and closed the gate.
A minute later, they were rumbling away and the only home Jasmine had known for the last six years was receding into the distance. Then they turned the corner, and it was gone. Through the side slits in the trailer, Jasmine saw a lowering afternoon sun burnishing the tall buildings with a promising glow. Jasmine was in no mood to be optimistic. The truck lurched over bad pavement, and Jasmine had to brace her feet. Her boot knocked against something, making a wooden thunk!
She looked down for the first time. She choked back a scream. A wooden casket occupied the space she and Chester weren’t using. Trey . . .
Tears came then, tears that should have relieved her choked emotions but didn’t. She’d made up her mind to go home to Texas, but Chad didn’t know that. He had absolutely no right to haul her around literally like cattle. She wasn’t sure which was worse, being treated like a harlot or baggage . . . While she fumed, inside the satchel her cell phone buzzed with a new voice mail, but she didn’t hear it.
As Chad navigated rush-hour traffic to put as much distance as he could between himself and LA, Riley gave up trying to reach either Jasmine or Chad on their phones. Instead, as they left the equestrian center he’d told the patrolman who was driving to go to Jasmine’s place. Riley eyed the door as he hurried up the steps; it looked half open.
When he reached the landing he realized why—the jamb was splintered and at the bottom of the door panel was the imprint of a booted foot. Not exactly gangbanger footwear. Riley’s heart sank as he pushed open the door to find a vacant apartment and a door chain on the floor. The by-the-book cop actually used an expletive Captain Barnes would have exhorted against. “Fuck me.” He looked around guiltily, wondering if someone had overheard him using the F word while he was on duty.
Resigned, Riley pulled out his cell phone and speed dialed the California Highway Patrol. He’d done all he could to keep the stubborn son of a bitch out of jail, but this was too flagrant . . .
At about the same time in Amarillo, Mary stood in her room looking down at her cell phone screen. She had six missed calls from Thomas and two voice mails. She’d been afraid to call him back because she knew he’d hear the venom in her tone and suspect what she was about to do. Instead, she’d texted him that she’d meet him late tomorrow afternoon at the drill site and explain why it was inactive. She’d had problems with the rig crew, she’d lied, and they needed to come up with a new schedule.
Then she sat at her window and watched the sun go down, feeling the loss of warmth and every hope she’d had for the future go with it. She should head downstairs and get something to eat, but she wasn’t hungry.
Sinclair had explained the process to her, but she was still a bit nervous. Wearing the wire wouldn’t be hard, but finding just the right words without rousing Thomas’s suspicions would be a challenge. He always could talk rings around her, or anyone she knew, for that matter.
But as she stared into the growing dark, she realized she didn’t really care if he realized she was wearing a recording device. She looked down at the small pistol she’d purchased soon after arriving in Texas, when she’d realized the deal was coming apart.
“Come on, Thomas, get tough,” she whispered into the darkness. She hadn’t told Sinclair she had a gun because she knew how he’d react. Still, big shot Texas Ranger or not, he was a typical cop and didn’t care if he endangered her as long as he nailed his man. She cooperated because for once her interests were aligned with the law.
Legal or not, one way or another, Thomas Kinnard would pay for killing Trey.
While Mary was vowing retribution, on the I-10 East, Chad pulled onto the shoulder beneath growing shadows. A setting sun peered over sere mountains and lazily whirring Palm Springs wind turbines. It was a Monday, so thankfully traffic was heading out of the C
oachella Valley, not in, so eastbound I-10 traffic was light.
Taking a deep breath to steel himself to her fury, Chad unlatched the trailer and peered inside. Jasmine glared at him but looked none the worse for wear. Warily, Chad stepped inside the trailer and gently pulled the gag down from her mouth. It sagged around her neck. “I’m sorry, Jasmine, but you left me no choice. We’re outside LA now, if you’re ready to come inside the truck.”
“You mean go peaceful-like while you bushwhack me?” She kicked his shin.
Wincing, he moved back out of range. “You don’t belong in California. You’ve all but admitted it.”
“You have no right to decide where I belong, you redneck Ranger. No, I forget, ex Ranger, you couldn’t even do that right.... No one’s bossed me around since I was sixteen—”
He couldn’t help it; he shut her up the way he’d been longing to ever since they rolled around together on her carpet. He kissed her. She stiffened, and for a moment he wondered if he should back up or get a knee in his groin, but she exhaled into his mouth, tasting of peppermints, and sagged against him, kissing him back. He untied her waist, unlatched the cuffs and pulled her into his arms, cuffs and all. It was awkward at first, but she pulled his head down and lifted her wrists behind his head, linking them together literally with bonds of steel. She not only accepted his deepening of their kiss, she welcomed it with an open mouth and shyly inviting tongue.
For an instant, while he could still think, he realized she was no more experienced at French-kissing than he was, Even when they’d made love, their kissing had been elemental, rough, not tender or experienced. A burst of mental elation accented the physical contact. In this way, at least, they could learn together. But then he didn’t care about anything except getting closer to her, skin to skin. He tugged her tucked shirt free of the waist of her jeans and inched one hand up her soft, warm abdomen to softer, warmer flesh covered in a scrap of lace. He covered the globe with a tender palm, and then worked a finger inside to stroke the nipple, which tightened instantly under his touch.
She lifted a knee toward his groin, but not to hit. She stroked, slowly and lusciously, at the growing length in his jeans. He groaned into her mouth, removing his hand from under her shirt to cup her head in his hands and tilt her head sideways to better fit her for the deep thrust of his tongue. He’d never known this intimacy before with any woman, feeling the limits of flesh because he couldn’t get close enough, reach far enough. He wanted to meld with her, to own her, to keep her forever safe in the embrace of his arms . . . She belonged to him, stripper or not. He’d convince her to quit that soon enough; getting her home to Texas was the first step.
They were both too occupied to notice lights flashing in the growing gloom, but then the rumble of a motorcycle pulled alongside them and stopped. Chad lifted his head, blinking into the twilight in time to see a familiar form approaching the rear of the trailer. His uniform was slightly wrinkled for a change, and when he lifted his helmet visor, Riley O’Connor was as serious as Chad had ever seen him.
Gently, Chad pulled Jasmine’s twined arms from around his neck. She blinked into the bright headlight as Chad jumped out of the trailer. “She’s fine, Riley. I’d never hurt her.”
Riley looked grimly from the ropes dangling on the rail in front of Jasmine, to the gag still loose around her throat and the handcuffs. “Yes, well, you can explain that to the judge. I don’t care what she does for a living, she’s still from my precinct and kidnapping is somewhat frowned upon in Beverly Hills.”
Chad frowned. “You don’t have any jurisdiction here, Riley.”
“No, but they do.” Riley jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Jasmine stepped down to the pavement, using her cuffed hands to remove the gag and toss it to the ground while they watched two California Highway Patrol cruisers stop behind them, lights flashing.
Four patrolmen got out of the vehicles, approaching aggressively. Chad had time for only one pleading look at Jasmine. He dropped the cuff key into Jasmine’s shirt pocket before he was spread-eagled against the cab of his truck while they frisked him.
For a moment, a pleased smile flickered about Jasmine’s lips as she watched him get his comeuppance, until one of the patrolmen gibed at Chad, “You’ll be real popular in lock up, Ranger Roy. Your first felony?”
Her smile faded. She exchanged a glance with Riley. He looked away, shrugging as if to say it was out of his hands.
Chad didn’t help matters as they let him turn around so they could cuff him. He sneered at the patrolman approaching with cuffs and shot back, “At least I don’t have to wear those plug-ugly hats.”
They were a bit rougher than necessary as one cop held Chad’s arms while the other one began placing cuffs around his wrists.
A distinctive metallic click sounded. All five cops looked over at Jasmine.
Her own cuffs dangled open while she held up the key so it shone in Riley’s headlight. “You’ve got it all wrong, guys. You can’t kidnap a willing victim.” She beamed that slow, sensual, stripper stage smile at Chad. “Told you you’d like the handcuffs, darling. Just wait until we try the leather halter . . .” The very tip of her tongue rimmed her lips.
Openmouthed, all six men stared at her. Including Chad.
For the moment, Jasmine was the only one capable of movement, it seemed. She twisted out of her cuffs, sticking them in her back pocket, and then with a May I? look at the cop holding the still open cuffs on Chad, she pulled them off his wrists and returned them. His mouth still agape and eyes wide, the patrolman limply accepted them.
Jasmine pushed Chad toward the truck. “We’ve wasted enough taxpayer dollars for one day.” Coming back to life, Chad for once obeyed and swung up in the cab, still watching her through the window, wide-eyed, as if he were viewing a play.
Jasmine turned back toward the patrolmen. “I’m not a kidnap victim, gentlemen. If you look, you’ll see my bags in the back of the truck. And I think Riley will confirm we were kissing when he drove up.” She looked inquiringly at Riley.
He collected his wits and gave a reluctant nod somewhat spoiled by a glare at Chad. He looked back at Jasmine with an I know what you’re doing scowl, but she only smiled seductively and strolled toward the passenger side of the truck. As she rounded the hood, she paused.
“Thanks so much for the concern, guys, but as you can see, I’m not spindled, folded, or mutilated. I’m here of my own free will. Riley, I’ll be in touch.” And she got into the truck.
“Can I go?” Chad asked through his rolled-down window.
Shaking his head as if he suspected he’d been snookered, the patrolman shrugged. “Go.”
And the dually rumbled away. The minute they were out of view, Jasmine took the cuffs out of her back pocket and tossed them into the rear seat hard enough to gouge the fabric. “That’s about the sixth time you owe me, asshole, for saving your butt from the fire.”
As he merged with eastbound traffic, Chad glanced at her with a very masculine smile. “True. But I’m more intrigued by something you said.”
When she scowled at him, her sensual mouth now set mulishly, he teased, “When can we try out this leather halter?”
CHAPTER 19
Early the next afternoon, at the DPS office in Amarillo, Mary stood still while Sinclair taped the tiny transmitter to her collarbone beneath her undershirt. “These things used to be so bulky it was hard to disguise them, but not anymore.”
Corey went into Sinclair’s office, shut the door, and radioed to Mary, “Testing, testing, can you hear me, Mary?”
The wireless listening bud in Mary’s ear was so tiny it couldn’t be seen through her lush red hair, but she nodded and said back, bending her head slightly toward the transmitter under her shirt, “Loud and clear. You can hear me?”
“Copy that,” Corey agreed. He came back out of the office and gave her a thumbs-up.
Sinclair helped Mary button her shirt over the transmitter, and then walked around her, eyeing her crit
ically. “Can’t see a thing. But don’t bend your head when you talk—it’s not necessary and it might alert him. This is the latest hardware. We got it from the Defense Department.” He stopped in front of her and put his hands lightly on her shoulders. “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s not too late to back out. We’ll find another way to convict him. The Beverly Hills Police Department and the California Highway Patrol are on the case, too. He has nowhere to run.”
“You don’t know Thomas. He’s like a rat. He can squeeze himself into the most improbable places and lie low until the rest of us have given up. Then he’ll come out and rule the world.” Mary shrugged away from Sinclair’s light grip, her voice dull. “I know him and I think I can get him to brag about what he’s done to tie up all the mineral rights he needed for the Dorado field. Still, he never would have gotten this far if I hadn’t caved to his persuasions. Trey would still be alive.”
“You don’t know that. No one made Trey sign that contract. You weren’t even there, from what I understand.” Sinclair’s bright blue gaze exchanged a worried look with Corey, and then he said lightly, “But just in case, one of us will follow you at a distance, no more than a half mile away. All you need to do is ask for help, and we’ll be there.”
“Have you reached Chad Foster yet?”
Sinclair sighed. “No, and he hasn’t called in, but he should be back any time if he drove straight through. Riley O’Connor gave me an update.” Sinclair chuckled. “I guess redheads really do live up to their reputation.”
The dullness sharpened in her eyes. “Jasmine’s with him?”
Sinclair nodded. “Sounds like Chad was determined to get his woman, one way or the other, and almost got himself arrested, but she bailed him out. For the second time. According to Riley she paid twenty-five thousand in bail money to get him out of the lockup after he crunched a parking attendant’s car with his truck.”
Mary smiled sadly. “Sounds like Jasmine. Has anyone told Chad about me?”
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